A moonlit campervan morning this morning. The suburban scene bathed in a waning moon high above me. The sky clear, a few stars visible, intermittent cloud interrupts the scene from time to time plunging us into darkness and then unveiling her luminescence once again. Twinkling navigation lights skid across the sky. A firm breeze continues to blow through the trees, creating the shimmering early morning soundtrack. The writer Vera Nazarian beautifully wrote ;
“ Listen to the trees as they sway in the wind.
Their leaves are telling secrets. Their bark sings songs of olden days as it grows around the trunks. And their roots give names to all things.
Their language has been lost.
But not the gestures.”
Birds are slowly waking, distant crows and nearer Robins, a few cars moving around and a far off rumble of motorway traffic. Friday is here once more and the seasons finally feel they have shifted. Leaves blowing around me, a shift in colour, temperature and the air heralds the march to winter. I have a sense that from my seat we have almost been in a phoney autumn, if such a thing is possible, holding onto the old timetables and old expectations ( Old expectations again ! ) of seasonal change, but at last realness has appeared. The wind is nipping at fingers and face, the early morning coffee, fingers wrapped around the cup, is emptying way too quickly. The start of dark cosy autumnal Friday evenings, drawn curtains, low light, fires, a good book and music in the background, well at least it is for me ( It would appear some where along this journey I have become old or maybe just wiser !! ). I am making my way through Susan Sontag on Photography and The Library at Night by Alberto Manguel. I enjoy this time of year, I particularly enjoy these mornings, sat in darkness beneath the sanctuary of the Oak, speculating at life, adventures and experiences, the day ahead and then seeing it unveil, acknowledging the passing of the year and the shift towards, at this moment in time, winter.
The sky now a pale blue with pink edged clouds and orange light heralding the day proper. I find myself fortunate to have a skill set and be of an age, where I pick if, where, when and with whom I work. That everyday has its own potential. I am not wedded or welded to the idea of weekends. Everyday is something of an opportunity, to plan, to play, to experience, to listen and to grow or not. So my everyday has plans to be made, fires to be lit, books to be read and music to be aired. It is after all vinyl Friday. A bit of a meandering this morning, the banishment the weekend thinking and an attempt to make it everyday thinking. Lovely days people.
“ I would love to live like a river flows, carried by the surprise of its own unfolding.” John O'Donohue.
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